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THE  CELESTIAL  PASSION 


'By  7£.   IV.  GILDER 

I.   THE  &£EW  <DAY 
II.   THE  CELESTIAL 
///.  LYRICS 


»  THE  CELESTIAL 
PASSIONS  BY  RICHARD 
WATSON  g^LDER 


PUBLISHED  BY  THE 
CENTURY  CO.  N.  Y. 


Copyright,  1878,  1885,  1887, 

BY  RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER. 

All  rights  reserved. 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS. 


CONTENTS. 

PRELUDE. 
THE  CELESTIAL  PASSION. 

PART   I. 


PAGE 

I. 

II. 

16 

III. 

MORS  TRIUMPHALIS       

21 

IV. 

THE  MASTER-  POETS          

.        28 

PART   II. 

I. 

A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN     

31 

II. 

EASTER      

•     33 

III. 

A  MADONNA  OF  FRA  LIPPO  LIPPI 

•        36 

IV. 

COST           

•     37 

V. 

THE  SONG  OF  A  HEATHEN 

•        38 

VI. 

HOLY  LAND       

•    39 

VII. 

A  PORTRAIT  OF  SERVETUS 

40 

VIII. 

"  DESPISE  NOT  THOU  "        

•     4i 

IX. 

"To  REST  FROM  WEARY  WORK" 

42 

PART    III. 

I. 

RECOGNITION         

45 

II. 

HYMN:   Sung  at  the  Presentation  of  the  Obelisk 

.    48 

III. 

A  THOUGHT  

5i 

6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

iv.       THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PINE 52 

v.         MORNING  AND  NIGHT 55 

vi.     "  DAY  UNTO  DAY  UTTERETH  SPEECH  "  .        .56 


PART   IV. 

i.         THE  SOUL 59 

ii.      "  WHEN  LOVE  DAWNED  " 60 

in.       LOVE  AND  DEATH 61 

I.  "Now  who  can  take  from  us  what  we  have 

known?  " 

II.  "We   know  not  where  they  tarry  who  have 

died." 

iv.       FATHER  AND  CHILD 63 

V.         "BEYOND   THE    BRANCHES   OF   THE    PlNE "         .  .  64 

vi.  AN  AUTUMN  MEDITATION 65 

vn.  "  CALL  ME  NOT  DEAD  " 68 

vni.  "EACH  MOMENT  HOLY  is" 69 

ix.  "  WHEN  TO  SLEEP  I  MUST  " 69 

x.         To  A  DEPARTED  FRIEND 70 

XL  "THE  EVENING  STAR" 71 

xn.      LIFE 72 

I.  "Great  Universe — what  dost  thou  with  thy 

dead?" 

II.  "  Ah,  thou  wilt  never  answer  to  our  call." 

xiii.    THE  FREED  SPIRIT 74 

xiv.      UNDYING  LIGHT 75 

I.  "When  in  the  golden  western  summer  skies." 

II.  "  O  thou  the  Lord  and  Maker  of  life  and  light!  " 


DECORATIONS  BY  H.  DE  K. 


PRELUDE 


THE    CELESTIAL    PASSION. 

O  WHITE  and  midnight  sky,  O  starry  bath, 
Wash  me  in  thy  pure,  heavenly,  crystal  flood; 
Cleanse  me,  ye  stars,  from  earthly  soil  and  scath  — 
Let  not  one  taint  remain  in  spirit  or  blood! 

Receive  my  soul,  ye  burning,  awful  deeps; 
Touch  and  baptize  me  with  the  mighty  power 
That  in  ye  thrills,  while  the  dark  planet  sleeps; 
Make  me  all  yours  for  one  blest,  secret  hour! 

O  glittering  host,  O  high  angelic  choir, 

Silence  each  tone  that  with  thy  music  jars; 
Fill  me  even  as  an  urn  with  thy  white  fire 

Till  all  I  am  is  kindred  to  the  stars! 

Make  me  thy  child,  thou  infinite,  holy  night, — 
So  shall  my  days  be  full  of  heavenly  light ! 


PART   I. 


s 


I. 


ART  AND  LIFE. 

AID  the  Poet  unto  the  Seer, 

How  shall  I  learn  to  tell 
What  I  know  of  Heaven  and  Hell? 
I  speak,  but  to  ashes  turn 
The  passions  that  in  me  burn. 
I  shout  to  the  skies,  but  I  hear 
No  answer  from  man  or  God. 
Shall  I  throw  my  lyre  on  the  sod, 
Rest,  and  give  over  the  strife, 
And  sink  in  a  voiceless  life? 


ART  AND  LIFE. 

Said  the  Seer  to  the  Poet:     Arise 

And  give  to  the  seas  and  the  skies 

The  message  that  in  thee  burns. 

Thrice  speak,  though  the  blue  sky  turns 

Deaf  ears,  and  the  ocean  spurns 

Thy  call.     Though  men  despise 

The  word  that  from  out  thy  heart 

Flameth;  do  thou  thy  part. 

Thrice  speak  it,  aloud,  I  say, 

Then  go,  released,  on  thy  way; 

Live  thou  deeply  and  wise; 

Suffer  as  never  before; 

Know  joy,  till  it  cuts  to  the  quick; 

Eat  the  apple,  Life,  to  the  core. 

Be  thou  cursed 

By  them  thou  hast  blessed,  by  the  sick 

Whom  thou  in  thy  weakness  nursed. 

With  thy  strength  the  weak  endue; 

Be  praised  when  'twere  better  to  blame; 

In  the  home  of  thy  spirit  be  true, 

Though  the  voice  of  the  street  cry  shame. 

Be  silent  till  all  is  done, 


ART  AND  LIFE.  15 

Then  return,  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 

And  once  more  sing. 

Oh,  then  fling 

Into  music  thy  soul!     Tell  the  seas 

Again  all  thy  thought;  Oh,  be  strong 

Thy  voice  as  the  voice  of  the  waves,  as  the  voice 

of  the  trees ! 
Tell  the  blast, 

That  shall  shudder  as  onward  it  flies 
With  thy  word,  with  thy  song; 
Tell  the  skies, 
And  the  world,  that  shall  listen  at  last. 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  MASTER. 


II. 
THE    POET   AND    HIS   MASTER. 

ONE  day  the  poet's  harp  lay  on  the  ground, 
Though  from  it  rose  a  strange  and  trembling  sound 
What  time  the  wind  swept  over  with  a  moan, 
Or,  now  and  then,  a  faint  and  tinkling  tone 
When  a  dead  leaf  fell  shuddering  from  a  tree 
And  shook  the  silent  wires  all  tremulously; 
And  near  it,  dumb  with  sorrow,  and  alone 
The  poet  sat.     His  heart  was  like  a  stone. 

Then  one  drew  near  him  who  was  robed  in  white : 

It  was  the  poet's  master;  he  had  given 

To  him  that  harp,  once  in  a  happy  night 

When  every  silver  star  that  shone  in  heaven 

Made  music  ne'er  before  was  heard  by  mortal  wight. 

And  thus  the  master  spoke: 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  MASTER. 

"  Why  is  thy  voice 

Silent,  O  poet  ?     Why  upon  the  grass 
Lies  thy  still  harp  ?     The  fitful  breezes  pass 
And  touch  the  wires,  but  the  skilled  player's  hand 
Moves  not  upon  them.     Poet, —  wake!     Rejoice, 
Sing  and  arouse  the  melancholy  land." 

"  Master,  forbear.     I  may  not  sing  to-day : 
My  nearest  friend,  the  brother  of  my  heart, 
This  day  is  stricken  with  sorrow,  he  must  part 
From  her  who  loves  him.     Can  I  sing,  and  play 
Upon  the  joyous  harp,  and  mock  his  woe  ?  " 

"Alas,  and  hast  thou  then  so  soon  forgot 

The  bond  that  with  thy  gift  of  song  did  go  — 

Severe  as  fate,  fixed  and  unchangeable  ? 

Even  though  his  heart  be  sounding  its  own  knell 

Dost  thou  not  know  this  is  the  poet's  lot : 

'Mid  sounds  of  war  —  in  halcyon  times  of  peace  — 

To  strike  the  ringing  wire  and  not  to  cease; 

In  hours  of  general  happiness  to  swell 

The  common  joy;  and  when  the  people  cry 


Z8  THE  POET  AND  HIS  MASTER. 

With  piteous  voice  loud  to  the  pitiless  sky, 

Tis  his  to  frame  the  universal  prayer 

And  breathe  the  balm  of  song  upon  the  accursed  air  ?  " 

"  But  'tis  not,  O  my  master,  that  I  borrow 
The  robe  of  grief  to  deck  my  brother's  sorrow, — 
Mine  eyes  have  seen  beyond  the  veil  of  youth; 
I  know  what  Life  is,  have  caught  sight  of  Truth; 
My  heart  is  dead  within  me;  a  thick  pall 
Darkens  the  mid-day  sun." 

"And  dost  thou  call 

This  sorrow  ?     Call  this  knowledge  ?     O  thou  blind 
And  ignorant !     Know,  then,  thou  yet  shall  find, 
Ere  thy  full  days  are  numbered  'neath  the  sun, 
Thou,  in  thy  shallow  youth,  hadst  but  begun 
To  guess  what  knowledge  is,  what  grief  may  be, 
And  all  the  infinite  sum  of  human  misery; 
Shalt  find  that  for  each  drop  of  perfect  good 
Thou  payest,  at  last,  a  threefold  price  in  blood ; 
What  is  most  noble  in  thee, —  every  thought 
Highest  and  best, —  crushed,  spat  upon,  and  brought 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  MASTER.  19 

To  an  open  shame;  thy  natural  ignorance 
Counted  thy  crime;  the  world  all  ruled  by  chance, 
Save  that  the  good  most  suffer;  but  above 
These  ills  another, —  cruel,  monstrous,  worse 
Than  all  before, —  thy  pure  and  passionate  love 
Shall  bring  the  old,  immitigable  curse." 

"And  thou  who  tell'st  me  this,  dost  bid  me  sing?" 

"  I  bid  thee  sing,  even  though  I  have  not  told 
All  the  deep  flood  of  anguish  shall  be  rolled 
Across  thy  breast.     Nor,  Poet,  shalt  thou  bring 
From  out  those  depths  thy  grief!     Tell  to  the  wind 
Thy  private  woes,  but  not  to  human  ear, 
Save  in  the  shape  of  comfort  for  thy  kind. 
But  never  hush  thy  song,  dare  not  to  cease 
While  life  is  thine.     Haply,  'mid  those  who  hear, 
Thy  music  to  one  soul  shall  murmur  peace, 
Though  for  thyself  it  hath  no  power  to  cheer. 

"Then  shall  thy  still  unbroken  spirit  grow 
Strong  in  its  silent  suffering  and  more  wise; 


20 


THE  POET  AND  HIS  MASTER. 


And  as  the  drenched  and  thunder-shaken  skies 
Pass  into  golden  sunset  —  thou  shalt  know 
An  end  of  calm,  when  evening  breezes  blow; 
And  looking  on  thy  life  with  vision  fine 
Shalt  see  the  shadow  of  a  hand  divine." 


Jl/OfiS  TRIUMPHALIS.  2I 


III. 


MORS  TRIUMPHALIS. 


IN  the  hall  of  the  king   the  loud  mocking  of  many 

at  one; 
While   lo !  with  his  hand   on   his   harp  the   old  bard 

is  undone ! 
One  false  note,  then  he  stammers,  he  sobs  like  a  child, 

he  is  failing, 
And  the  song  that  so  bravely  began  ends  in  discord 

and  wailing. 

3 


22  MORS  TRIUMPHALIS. 


II. 


Can  it  be  it  is  they  who  make  merry,  'tis  they  taunt 
ing  him  ? 

Shall  the  sun,  then,  be  scorned  by  the  planets,  the 
tree  by  the  limb! 

These  bardlings,  these  mimics,  these  echoes,  these 
shadows  at  play, 

While  he  only  is  real:  —  they  shine  but  as  motes  in 
his  day! 


in. 


All  that  in  them  is  best  is  from  him;  all  they  know 

he  has  taught; 
But  one  secret  he  never  could  teach,  and  they  never 

have  caught, — 
The  soul  of  his   songs,  that    goes   sighing  like  wind 

through  the  reeds, 
And  thrills  men,  and  moves  them  to  terror,  to  prayer, 

and  to  deeds. 


MORS  TRIUMPHALIS.  23 


IV. 


Has  the  old  poet  failed,  then, —  the  singer  forgotten 

his  part  ? 
Why,  'twas    he  who    once   startled   the  world  with  a 

cry  from  his  heart; 
And  he   held  it    entranced  in  a  life-song,  all    music, 

all  love; 
If  now  it  grow  faint  and  grow  still,  they  have  called 

him  above 


v. 


Ah,  never  again  shall  we  hear  such  fierce  music 
and  sweet, — 

Surely  never  from  you,  ye  who  mock, —  for  his  foot 
stool  unmeet; 

E'en  his  song  left  unsung  had  more  power  than  the 
note  ye  prolong, 

And  one  sweep  of  his  harp-strings  outpassioned  the 
height  of  your  song. 


24  MORS  TRIUMPIIALIS. 


VI. 


But  a  sound  like  the  voice  of  the  pine,  like  the  roar 
of  the  sea 

Arises.  He  breathes  now;  he  sings;  oh,  again  he 
is  free. 

He  has  flung  from  his  flesh,  from  his  spirit,  their 
shackles  accursed, 

And  he  pours  all  his  heart,  all  his  life,  in  one  pas 
sionate  burst. 


VII. 


And  now  as  he  chants  those  who  listen  turn  pale  — 

are  afraid ; 
For  he  sings  of  a  God  that  made  all,  and  is  all  that 

was  made; 
Who  is  maker  of  love,  and  of  hate,  and  of  peace,  and 

of  strife; 
Smiles  a  world  into  life ;  frowns  a  hell,  that  yet  thrills 

with  his  life. 


MORS  TRIUMPIIALIS. 


VIII. 


And  he  sings  of  the  time  that  shall  be  when  the  earth 

is  grown  old, 
Of   the   day  when   the   sun   shall   be   withered,   and 

shrunken,  and  cold;  . 

When  the  stars,  and  the  moon,  and  the  sun, —  all  their 

glory  o'erpast, — 
Like  apples  that  shrivel  and  rot,  shall  drop   into  the 

Vast. 


IX. 


And  onward  and  out  soars  his  song  on  its  journey 

sublime, 
Mid  systems  that   vanish    or   live   in    the   lilt   of  his 

rhyme; 
And  through  making  and  marring  of  races,  and  worlds, 

still  he  sings 
One   theme,   that   o'er  all  and   through  all   his   wild 

music  outrings;  — 


26  MORS  TRIUMPH  A  US, 


x. 


This  one  theme :    that  whate'er  be  the  fate  that  has 

hurt  us  or  joyed, 
Whatever   the  face  that  is  turned  to   us  out  of  the 

void; 
Be  it  cursing  or  blessing;    or  night,  or  the  light  of 

the  sun ; 
Be  it  ill,  be  it  good;   be  it   life,   be  it   death,   it  is 

ONE;  — 


XI. 


One  thought,  and  one  law,  and  one  awful  and  infinite 

power; 
In  atom,  and  world;  in  the  bursting  of  fruit  and  of 

flower ; 

The  laughter  of  children,  and  roar  of  the  lion  untamed; 
And  the  stars  in  their  courses  —  one  name  that  can 

never  be  named. 


MORS  TKIUMPHALIS. 


XII. 


But  sudden  a  silence  has  fallen,  the  music  has  fled; 
Though  he   leans  with   his  hand    on   his   harp,   now 

indeed  he  is  dead! 
But  the  swan-song  he  sang  shall  for  ever  and  ever 

abide 
In  the   heart  of  the   world,  with  the  winds  and  the 

murmuring  tide. 


28  THE  MASTER-POETS. 


IV. 
THE  MASTER-POETS. 

HE  the  great  World- Musician  at  whose  stroke 
The  stars  of  morning  into  music  broke; 
He  from  whose  Being  Infinite  are  caught 
All  harmonies  of  light,  and  sound,  and  thought, — 
Once  in  each  age,  to  keep  the  world  in  tune 
He  strikes  a  note  sublime.     Nor  late,  nor  soon, 
A  god-like  soul, —  music  and  passion's  birth, — 
Vibrates  across  the  discord  of  the  earth 
And  sets  the  world  aright. 

O,  these  are  they 

Who 'on  men's  hearts  with  mightiest  power  can  play,- 
The  master-poets  of  humanity, 
Sent  down  from  heaven  to  lift  men  to  the  sky. 


PART   II. 


A    CHRISTMAS    HYMN. 


r  I AELL  me  what  is  this  innumerable  throng 
J-     Singing  in  the  heavens  a  loud  angelic  song  ? 
These  are  they  who  come  with  swift  and 

shining  feet 

From  round  about  the  throne  of  God  the 
Lord  of  Light  to  greet. 

II. 

Oh,  who  are  these  that  hasten  beneath  the  starry  sky  — 
As   if    with    joyful    tidings    that    through    the   world 
shall  fly?  — 


32  A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

The  faithful  shepherds  these,  who  greatly  were 

afeared 
When,  as  they  watched  their  flocks  by  night, 

the  heavenly  host  appeared. 


in. 


Who  are  these  that  follow  across  the  hills  of  night 
A  star  that  westward  hurries  along  the  fields  of  light  ? 
Three  wise  men  from  the  East   who   myrrh 

and  treasure  bring 

To  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  him  their  Lord 
and  Christ  and  King. 


IV. 


What  babe  new-born  is  this  that  in  a  manger  cries? 
Near  on  her  lowly  bed  his  happy  mother  lies. 

Oh,  see  the  air    is    shaken  with    white   and 

heavenly  wings  — 

This  is  the  Lord  of  all  the  earth,  this  is  the 
King  of  Kings. 


EASTER. 

II. 

EASTER, 
i. 

WHEN  in  the  starry  gloom 

They  sought  the  Lord  Christ's  tomb, 

Two  angels  stood  in  sight 

All  dressed  in  burning  white 

Who  unto  the  women  said, 

"  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead  ?  " 

ii. 

His  life,  his  hope,  his  heart, 
With  death  they  had  no  part: 
For  this  those  words  of  scorn 
First  heard  that  holy  morn, 
When  the  waiting  angels  said, 
"Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead?" 
4 


33 


34  EASTER. 


III. 


O,  ye  of  this  latter  day, 

Who  journey  the  self-same  way  — 

Through  morning's  twilight  gloom 

Back  to  the  shadowy  tomb: 

To  you,  as  to  them,  was  it  said, 

"Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead?" 


IV. 


The  Lord  is  risen  indeed, 

He  is  here  for  your  love,  for  your  need  — 

Not  in  the  grave,  nor  the  sky, 

But  here  where  men  live  and  die; 

And  true  the  word  that  was  said, 

"Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead?" 

v. 

Wherever  are  tears  and  sighs, 
Wherever  are  children's  eyes, 


EASTER.  35 ' 

Where  man  calls  man  his  brother, 

And  loves  as  himself  another, 

Christ  lives!     The  angels  said 

"  Why  seek  ye  the  living  among  the  dead  ?  " 


36  A  MADONNA  OF  FRA  LIPPO  LI  PPL 

III. 
A  MADONNA  OF  FRA  LIPPO  LIPPI. 

No  HEAVENLY  maid  we  here  behold, 
Though  round  her  brow  a  ring  of  gold; 
This  baby,  solemn-eyed  and  sweet, 
Is  human  all  from  head  to  feet. 

Together  close  her  palms  are  prest 
In  worship  of  that  godly  guest : 
But  glad  her  heart  and  unafraid 
While  on  her  neck  his  hand  is  laid. 

Two  children,  happy,  laughing,  gay, 
Uphold  the  little  child  in  play; 
Not  flying  angels  these,  what  though* 
Four  wings  from  their  four  shoulders  grow. 

Fra  Lippo,  we  have  learned  from  thee 

A  lesson  of  humanity; 

To  every  mother's  heart  forlorn, 

In  every  house  the  Christ  is  born. 


COST.  27 

IV. 
COST. 

BECAUSE  Heaven's  cost  is  Hell,  and  perfect  joy 
Hurts  as  hurts  sorrow;  and  because  we  win 
No  boon  of  grace  without  the  cost  of  sin, 
Or  suffering  born  of  sin;  because  the  alloy 

Of  blood  but  makes  the  bliss  of  victory  brighter; 
Because  true  worth  hath  surest  proof  herein  — 
That  it  should  be  reproached,  and  called  akin 
To  evil  things, —  black  making  white  the  whiter : 

Because  no  cost  seems  great  near  this  —  that  He 
Should  pay  the  ransom  wherewith  we  were  priced ; 
And  none  could  name  a  darker  infamy 

Than  that  a  god  was  spit  upon  —  enticed 

By  those  he  came  to  save,  to  the  accursed  tree  — 
For  this  I  know  that  Christ  indeed  is  Christ. 


38  THE  SONG  OF  A  HE  A  THEN. 

V. 
THE   SONG   OF   A   HEATHEN. 

(SOJOURNING  IN  GALILEE,  A.  D.  32.) 


IF  Jesus  Christ  is  a  man, — 

And  only  a  man, —  I  say 
That  of  all  mankind  I  cleave  to  him, 

And  to  him  will  I  cleave  alway. 


ii. 


If  Jesus  Christ  is  a  God, — 

And  the  only  God, —  I  swear 
I  will  follow  Him  through  Heaven  and  hell, 

The  earth,  the  sea,  and  the  air ! 


HOL  Y  LAND.  39 

VI. 
HOLY    LAND. 

THIS  is  the  earth  he  walked  on ;  not  alone 
That  Asian  country  keeps  the  sacred  stain ; 
'Tis  not  alone  the  far  Judajan  plain, 
Mountain  and  river!     Lo,  the  sun  that  shone 

On  him,  shines  now  on  us;  when  day  is  gone 
The  moon  of  Galilee  comes  forth  again 
And  lights  our  path  as  his :  an  endless  chain 
Of  years  and  sorrows  makes  the  round  world  one. 

The  air  we  breathe,  he  breathed, —  the  very  air 
That  took  the  mold  and  music  of  his  high 
And  godlike  speech. —  Since  then  shall  mortal  dare 

With  base  thought  front  the  ever-sacred  sky, — 
Soil  with  foul  deed  the  ground  whereon  he  laid 
In  holy  death  his  pale,  immortal  head! 


4o  ON  A  PORTRAIT  OF  SERVETUS. 

VII. 
ON    A    PORTRAIT   OF   SERVETUS. 

THOU  grim  and  haggard  wanderer  who  dost  look 
With  haunting  eyes  forth  from  the  narrow  page, — 
I  know  what  fires  consumed  with  inward  rage 
Thy  broken  frame,  what  tempests  chilled  and  shook ! 

Ah,  could  not  thy  remorseless  foeman  brook 

Time's  sure  devourment,  but  must  needs  assuage 

His  anger  in  thy  blood,  and  blot  the  age 

With  that  dark  crime  which  virtue's  semblance  took ! 

Servetus!  that  which  slew  thee  lives  to-day, 

Though  in  new  forms  it  taints  our  modern  air ; 
Still  in  heaven's  name  the  deeds  of  hell  are  done : 

Still  on  the  high-road,  'neath  the  noon-day  sun, 
The  fires  of  hate  are  lit  for  them  who  dare 
Follow  their  Lord  along  the  untrodden  way. 


"DESPISE  NOT  THOU."  4! 

VIII. 
"DESPISE  NOT  THOU." 

DESPISE  not  thou  thy  father's  ancient  creed, — 
Of  his  pure  life  it  was  the  golden  thread 
Whereon  bright  days  were  gathered,  bead  by  bead, 
Till  holy  Death  lay  low  that  reverend  head. 

From  olden  faith  how  many  a  glorious  deed 
Hath  lit  the  world !  its  blood-stained  banner  led 
The  martyrs  heavenward;  yea,  it  was  the  seed 
Of  knowledge,  whence  our  modern  freedom  spread. 

Not  always  has  man's  credo  proved  a  snare, — 
But  a  deliverance,  a  sign,  a  flame 
To  purify  the  dense  and  pestilent  air, — 

Writing  on  pitiless  heavens  one  pitying  name:  — 
And  'neath  the  shadow  of  the  dread  eclipse 
It  shines  on  dying  eyes  and  pallid  lips. 


42  "TO  REST  FROM  WEARY  WORK." 

IX. 

"TO  REST  FROM  WEARY  WORK." 

To  REST  from  weary  work  one  day  of  seven; 
One  day  to  turn  our  backs  upon  the  world, 
Its  soil  wash  from  us,  and  strive  on  to  Heaven, — 
Whereto  we  daily  climb,  but  quick  are  hurled 

Down  to  the  pit  of  human  pride  and  sin. 
Help  me,  ye  powers  celestial!  to  come  nigh; 
Ah,  let  me  catch  one  little   glimpse  within 
The  heavenly  city,  lest  my  spirit  die. 

These  be  my  guides,  my  messengers,  my  friends: 
Books  of  wise  poets;  the  musician's  art; 
The  ocean  whose  deep  music  never  ends ; 

The  silence  of  the  forest's  shadowy  heart ; 
And,  too,  the  brooding  organ's  solemn  blare, 
And  kneeling  multitudes'  low-murmuring  prayer. 


PART    III. 


RECOGNITION. 


IN  darkness  of  the  visionary  night 
This  I  beheld:  Wide  space  and  therein  God, 
God  who  in  dual  nature  doth  abide, — 
Love,  and  the  Loved  One,  Power  and  Beauty's  self; 
Him  even  the  spirit's  eye  might  not  transfix 
But  sidelong  gazed,  fainting  before  the  light. 
And  forth  from  God  did  come,  with  dreadful  thrill, 
And  starry  music  like  to  million  wires 
That  shiver  with  the  breathings  of  the  dawn, — 
Creation,  boundless,  bodiless,  unformed, 

5  45 


46  RECOGNITION. 

And  white  with  trembling  fire  and  light  intense, 

And  outward  pulsings  like  the  boreal  flame. 

One  mighty  cloud  it  seemed,  nor  star,  nor  earth, 

Or  like  a  nameless  growth  of  the  under-seas: 

Creation  dumb,  unconscious,  yet  alive 

With  some  deep  inward  passion  unexpressed, 

And  swift,  concentric,  never-ceasing  urge, — 

Resolving  gradual  to  one  disk  of  fire. 

And  as  I  looked,  behold!  the  flying  rim 

Grew  separate  from  the  center;  this  again 

Divided,  and  the  whole  still  swift  revolved, 

Ring  within  ring,  and  fiery  wheel  in  wheel; 

Till,  sudden  or  slow  as  chanced,  the  outmost  edge 

Whirled  into  fragments,  each  a  separate  sun, 

With  lesser  globes  attendant  on  its  flight. 

These  while  I  gazed  turned  dark  with  smoldering  fire 

And,  slow  contracting,  grew  to  solid  orbs. 

Then  knew  I  that  this  planetary  world, 

Cradled  in  light,  and  curtained  with  the  dawn 

And  starry  eve,  was  born;  though  in  itself 

Complete  and  perfect  all,  yet  but  a  part 

And  atom  of  the  living  universe. 


RECOGNITION. 


47 


II. 

Unconscious  still  the  child  of  the  conscious  God, — 
Creation,  born  of  Beauty  and  of  Love, 
Beauty  the  womb  and  mother  of  all  worlds. 
But  soon  with  breathless  speed  the  new-made  earth 
Swept  near  me  where  I  watched  the  birth  of  things, 
Its  greatening  bulk  eclipsing,  star  by  star, 
Half  the  bright  heavens.     Then  I  beheld  crawl  forth 
Upon  the  earth's  cool  crust  most  wondrous  forms 
Wherein  were  hid,  in  transmutation  strange, 
Sparks  of  the  ancient,  never-ending  fire; 
Shapes  moved  not  solely  by  exterior  law 
But  having  will  and  motion  of  their  own, — 
First  sluggish  and  minute,  then  by  degrees 
Monstrous,  enorm.     Then  other  forms  more  fine 
Streamed  ceaseless  on  my  sight,  until  at  last, 
Rising  and  turning  its  slow  gaze  about 
Across  the  abysmal  void  the  mighty  child 
Of  the  supreme,  divine  Omnipotence  — 
Creation,  born  of  God,  by  him  begot, 
Conscious  in  MAN,  no  longer  blind  and  dumb, 
Beheld  and  knew  its  father  and  its  God. 


48  HYMN. 

II. 
HYMN: 

SUNG  AT  THE   PRESENTATION  OF   THE   OBELISK  TO  THE 
CITY    OF   NEW   YORK,    FEB.    22,    l88l. 

I. 

GREAT  God,  to  whom  since  time  began 

The  world  has  prayed  and  striven; 
Maker  of  stars,  and  earth,  and  man  — 
To  thee  our  praise  is  given. 
Here,  by  this  ancient  Sign 
Of  thine  own  Light  divine, 
We  lift  to  thee  our  eyes 
Thou  Pweller  of  the  Skies, — 
Hear  us,  O  God  in  Heaven ! 

n. 

Older  than  Nilus'  mighty  flood 
Into  the  Mid-Sea  pouring, 


HYMN. 

Or  than  the  sea,  thou  God  hast  stood, — 
Thou  God  of  our  adoring! 

Waters  and  stormy  blast 

Haste  when  thou  bid'st  them  haste; 

Silent,  and  hid,  and  still, 

Thou  sendest  good  and  ill: 
Thy  ways  are  past  exploring. 

in. 

In  myriad  forms,  by  myriad  names, 

Men  seek  to  bind  and  mold  thee; 
But  thou  dost  melt,  like  wax  in  flames, 
The  cords  that  would  enfold  thee. 
Who  madest  life  and  light, 
Bring 'st  morning  after  night, 
Who  all  things  did'st  create  — 
No  majesty,  nor  state, 
Nor  word,  nor  world  can  hold  thee! 

IV. 

Great  God,  to  whom  since  time  began 
The  world  has  prayed  and  striven; 


49 


50  HYMN. 

Maker  of  stars,  and  earth,  and  man  — 
To  thee  our  praise  is  given. 

Of  suns  thou  art  the  Sun, — 
Eternal,  holy  One: 
Who  can  us  help  save  thou! 
To  thee  alone  we  bow ! 
Hear  us,  O  God  in  Heaven! 


A    THOUGHT.  51 


III. 


A  THOUGHT. 

ONCE,  looking  from  a  window  on  a  land 

That  lay  in  silence  underneath  the  sun: 

A  land  of  broad,  green  meadows,  through  which  poured 

Two  rivers,  slowly  widening  to  the  sea, — 

Thus   as  I  looked,  I  know  not  how  nor  whence, 

Was  borne  into  my  unexpectant  soul 

That  thought,  late  learned  by  anxious-witted  man, 

The  infinite  patience  of  the  Eternal  Mind. 


52  THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PINL, 


IV. 


THE    VOICE    OF   THE    PINE. 

'Tis  night  upon  the  lake.     Our  bed  of  boughs 
Is  built  where  —  high  above  —  the  pine-tree  soughs. 
'Tis  still, — and  yet  what  woody  noises  loom 
Against  the  background  of  the  silent  gloom! 
One  well  might  hear  the  opening   of  a  flower 
If  day  were  hushed  as  this.     A  mimic  shower 
Just  shaken  from  a  branch,  how  large  it  sounded, 
As  'gainst  our  canvas  roof  its  three  drops  bounded! 
Across  the  rumpling  waves  the  hoot-owl's  bark 
Tolls  forth  the  midnight  hour  upon  the  dark. 
What  mellow  booming  from  the  hills  doth  come?  — 
The  mountain  quarry  strikes  its  mighty  drum. 

Long  had  we  lain  beside  our  pine-wood  fire, 
From  things  of  sport  our  talk  had  risen  higher; 
How  frank  and  intimate  the  words  of  men 
When  tented  lonely  in  some  forest  glen! 


THE    VOICE   OF  THE  PINE.  53 

No  dallying  now  with  masks,  from  whence  emerges 
Scarce  one  true  feature  forth.     The  night-wind  urges 
To  straight  and  simple  speech.     So  we  had  thought 
Aloud;  no  well-hid  secrets  but  were  brought 
To  light.     The  spiritual  hopes,  the  wild, 
Unreasoned  longings  that,  from  child  to  child, 
Mortals  still  cherish  (though  with  modern  shame),— 
To  these,  and  things  like  these,  we  gave  a  name; 
And  as  we  talked,  the  intense  and  resinous  fire 
Lit  up  the  towering  boles,  till  nigh  and  nigher 
They  gathered  round,  a  ghostly  company, 
Like  beasts  who  seek  to  know  what  men  may  be. 


Then  to  our  hemlock  beds,  but  not  to  sleep, — 
For  listening  to  the  stealthy  steps  that  creep 
About  the  tent,  or  falling  branch,  but  most 
A  noise  was  like  the  rustling  of  a  host, 
Or  like  the  sea  that  breaks  upon  the  shore, — 
It  was  the  pine-tree's  murmur.     More  and  more 
It  took  a  human  sound.     These  words  I  felt 
Into  the  skyey  darkness  float  and  melt: 


54 


THE    VOICE   OF   THE  PINE. 


"  Heardst  thou  these  wanderers  reasoning  of  a  time 
When  men  more  near  the  Eternal  One  shall  climb  ? 
How  like  the  new-born  child,  who  cannot  tell 
A  mother's  arm  that  wraps  it  warm  and  well! 
Leaves  of  His  rose;  drops  in  His  sea  that  flow, — 
Are  they,  alas,  so  blind  they  may  not  know 
Here,  in  this  breathing  world  of  joy  and  fear, 
They  can  no  nearer  get  to  God  than  here." 


MORNING  AND  NIGHT.  55 

V. 
MORNING   AND    NIGHT. 


THE  mountain  that  the  morn  doth  kiss 
Glad  greets  its  shining  neighbor: 

Lord !  heed  the  homage  of  our  bliss, — 
The  incense  of  our  labor. 


ii. 


Now  the  long  shadows  eastward  creep, 

The  golden  sun  is  setting: 
Take,  Lord!  the  worship  of  our  sleep, — 

The  praise  of  our  forgetting. 


56     "DAY  UNTO  DAY  UTTERETH  SPEECH." 


VI. 


"DAY    UNTO    DAY    UTTERETH    SPEECH." 

THE  speech  that  day  doth  utter,  and  the  night, 
Full  oft  to  mortal  ears  it  hath  no  sound; 
Dull  are  our  eyes  to  read  upon  the  ground 
What's  written  there;  and  stars  are  hid  by  light. 

So  when  the  dark  doth  fall,  awhile  our  sight 
Kens  the  unwonted  orbs  that  circle  round, 
Then  quick  in  sleep  our  human  sense  is  bound : 
Speechless  for  us  the  starry  heavens  and  bright. 

But  when  the  day  doth  close  there  is  one  word 
That's  writ  amid  the  sunset's  golden  embers; 
And  one  at  morn ;  by  them  our  hearts  are  stirred : 

Splendor  of  Dawn, —  and  Evening  that  remembers ; 
These  are  the  rhymes  of  God;  thus,  line  on  line, 
Our  souls  are  moved  to  thoughts  that  are  divine. 


PART    IV. 


I. 

THE   SOUL. 

rT^HREE  messengers  to  me  from  heaven  came 
J-    And  said  :  "  There  is  a  deathless  human  soul ;  — 
It  is  not  lost,  as  is  the  fiery  flame 
That  dies  into  the  undistinguished  whole. 

Ah,  no;  it  separate  is,  distinct  as  God  — 

Nor  any  more  than  He  can  it  be  killed: 

Then  fearless  give  thy  body  to  the  clod, 

For  naught  can  quench  the  light  that  once  it  filled ! " 

Three  messengers, —  the  first  was  human  LOVE; 
The  second  voice  came  crying  in  the  night 
With  strange  and  awful  music  from  above, — 

None  who  have  heard  that  voice  forget  it  quite : 

BIRTH  is  it  named.  The  third,  O,  turn  not  pale !  — 
'Twas  DEATH  to  the  undying  soul  cried,  Hail! 

59 


60  "  WHEN  LOVE  DAWNED." 


II. 


"WHEN    LOVE    DAWNED." 

WHEN  love  dawned  on  that  world  which  is  my  mind, 
Then  did  the  outer  world  wherein  I  went 
Suffer  a  sudden  strange  transfigurement, — 
It  was  as  if  new  sight  were  given  the  blind. 

Then  where  the  shore  to  the  wide  sea  inclined 
I  watched  with  new  eyes  the  new  sun's  ascent : 
My  heart  was  stirred  within  me  as  I  leant 
And  listened  to  a  voice  in  every  wind. 

O  purple  sea !    O  joy  beyond  control ! 

O  land  of  love  and  youth !   O  happy  throng ! 
Were  ye  then  real,  or  did  ye  only  seem  ? 

Dear  is  that  morning  twilight  of  the  soul, — 
The  mystery,  the  waking  voice  of  song, — 
For  now  I  know  it  was  not  all  a  dream. 


LOVE  AND  DEATH.  6 1 

III. 
LOVE   AND   DEATH. 


Now  who  can  take  from  us  what  we  have  known  — 
We  that  have  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  ? 
Though  sudden  night  should  blacken  all  the  skies, 
The  day  is  ours,  and  what  the  day  has  shown. 

What  we  have  seen  and  been,  hath  not  this  grown 
Part  of  our  very  selves  ?  We,  made  love-wise, 
What  power  shall  slay  our  living  memories, 
And  who  shall  take  from  us  what  is  our  own  ? 

So,  when  a  shade  of  the  last  parting  fell, 

This  thought  gave  peace,  as  he  deep  comfort  hath 
Who,  thirsting,  drinks  cool  waters  from  a  well. 

But  soon  I  felt  more  near  that  fatal  breath: 
More  near  he  drew,  till  I  his  face  could  tell, 
Till  then  unseen,  unknown,— I  looked  on  Death. 


62  LOVE  AND  DEATH. 


II. 

We  know  not  where  they  tarry  who  have  died ; 
The  gate  wherein  they  entered  is  made  fast : 
No  living  mortal  hath  seen  one  who  passed 
Hither,  from  out  that  darkness  deep  and  wide. 

We  lean  on  Faith ;  and  some  less  wise  have  cried, 
"  Behold  the  butterfly,  the  seed  that 's  cast ! " 
Vain  hopes  that  fall  like  flowers  before  the  blast ! 
What  man  can  look  on  Death  unterrified  ? 

Who  love  can  never  die !     They  are  a  part 
Of  all  that  lives  beneath  the  summer  sky; 
With  the  world's  living  soul  their  souls  are  one : 

Nor  shall  they  in  vast   nature  be  undone 
And  lost  in  the  general  life.     Each  separate  heart 
Shall  live,  and  find  its  own,  and  never  die. 


FATHER  AND   CHILD,  63 


IV. 


FATHER   AND    CHILD. 

BENEATH  the  deep  and  solemn  midnight  sky, 
At  this  last  verge  and  boundary  of  time 
I  stand,  and  listen  to  the  starry  chime 
That  sounds  to  the  inward  ear,  and  will  not  die. 

Now  do  the  thoughts  that  daily  hidden  lie 
Arise,  and  live  in  a  celestial  clime, — 
Unutterable  thoughts,  most  high,  sublime, 
Crossed  by  one  dread  that  frights  mortality. 

Thus,  as  I  muse,  I  hear  my  little  child 
Sob  in  its  sleep  within  the  cottage  near, — 
My  own  dear  child  !  —  Gone  is  that  mortal  doubt ! 

The  Power  that  drew  our  lives  forth  from  the  wild 
Our  Father  is;  we  shall  to  him  be  dear, 
Nor  from  his  universe  be  blotted  out! 


64       "BEYOND    THE  BRANCHES  OF  THE  PINE." 
V. 

"  BEYOND  THE  BRANCHES  OF  THE  PINE.' 

BEYOND  the  branches  of  the  pine 
The  golden  sun  no  more  doth  shine, 

But  still  the  solemn  after-glow 
Floods  the  deep  heavens  with  light  divine. 

The  night-wind  stirs  the  corn-field  near, 
The  gray  moon  turns  to  silver  clear, 

And  one  by  one  the  glimmering  stars 
In  the  blue  dome  of  heaven  appear. 

Now  do  the  mighty  hosts  of  light 
Across  the  darkness  take  their  flight, — 

They  rise  above  the  eastern  hill 
And  silent  journey  through  the  night. 

And  there  beneath  the  starry  zone, 
In  the  deep,  narrow  grave,  alone, 

Rests  all  that  mortal  was  of  her, 
The  purest  spirit  I  have  known. 


AN  AUTUMN  MEDITATION.  65 


VI. 


AN   AUTUMN    MEDITATION. 

As  THE  long  day  of  cloud  and  storm  and  sun 

Declines  into  the  dark  and  silent  nignt, 

So  passed  the  old  man's  life  from  human  gaze; 

But  not  till  sunset,  full  of  lovely  light 

And  color  that  the  day  might  not  reveal, 

Bathed  in  soft  gloom  the  landscape. 

Thus  kind  Heaven 

Let  me,  too,  die  when  Autumn  holds  the  year, 
Serene,  with  tender  hues,  and  bracing  airs, — 
And  near  me  those  I  love;  with  no  black  thoughts, 
Nor  dread  of  what  may  come!    Yea,  when  I  die 
Let  me  not  miss  from  nature  the  cool  rush 
Of  northern  winds;  let  Autumn  sunset  skies 
Be  golden;  let  the  cold,  clear  blue  of  night 
Whiten  with  stars  as  now!    Then  shall  I  fade 
From  life  to  life, —  pass  on  the  year's  full  tide 


66  AN  AUTUMN  MEDITATION. 

Into  the  swell  and  vast  of  the  outer  sea 
Beyond  this  narrow  world. 

For  autumn  days 

To  me  not  melancholy  are,  but  full 
Of  joy  and  hope,  mysterious  and  high, 
And  with  strange  promise  rife.     Then  it  meseems 
Not  failing  is  the  year,  but  gathering  fire 
Even  as  the  cold  increases. 

Grows  a  weed 

More  richly  here  beside  our   mellow  seas 
That  is  the  Autumn's  harbinger  and   pride. 
When  fades  the  cardinal-flower,  whose  heart-red  bloom 
Glows  like  a  living  coal  upon  the  green 
Of  the  midsummer  meadows,  then  how  bright, 
How  deepening  bright  like  mounting  flame  doth  burn 
The  golden-rod  upon  a  thousand  hills! 
This  is  the  Autumn's  flower,  and  to  my  soul 
A  token  fresh  of  beauty  and  of  life, 
And  life's  supreme  delight. 


AN  AUTUMN  MEDITATION.  67 

When  I  am  gone, 

Something  of  me,  I   would  might  subtly  pass 
Within  these  flowers  twain  of  all  the  year: 
So  might  my  spirit  send  a  sudden  stir 
Into  the  hearts  of  those  who  love  these  hills, 
These  woods,  these  waves,  and  meadows  by  the  sea. 


68  "CALL  ME  NOT  DEADS 


VII. 


"CALL   ME   NOT   DEAD." 

CALL  me  not  dead  when  I,  indeed,  have  gone 
Into  the  company  of  the  everliving 
High  and  most  glorious  poets !    Let  thanksgiving 
Rather  be  made.     Say  —  "He  at  last  hath  won 

Rest  and  release,  converse  supreme  and  wise, 
Music  and  song  and  light  of  immortal  faces : 
To-day,  perhaps,  wandering  in  starry  places, 
He  hath  met  Keats,  and  known  him  by  his  eyes. 

To-morrow  (who  can  say)  Shakespeare  may  pass, — 
And  our  lost  friend  just  catch  one  syllable 
Of  that  three-centuried  wit  that  kept  so  well, — 

Or  Milton, — or  Dante,  looking  on  the  grass 
Thinking  of  Beatrice,  and  listening  still 
To  chanted  hymns  that  sound  from  the  heavenly  hill." 


"WHEN  TO  SLEEP  I  MUST."  69 

VIII. 
"EACH  MOMENT  HOLY  IS." 

EACH  moment  holy  is,  for  out  from  God 

Each  moment  flashes  forth  a  human  soul. 

Holy  each  moment  is,  for  back  to  him 

Some  wandering  soul  each  moment   home  returns. 

IX. 
"WHEN  TO  SLEEP  I  MUST." 

WHEN  to  sleep  I  must 
Where  my  fathers  sleep; 
When  fulfilled  the  trust, 
And  the  mourners  weep ; 
When,  though  free  from  rust, 
Sword  hath  lost  its  worth. — 
Let  me  bring  to  earth 
No  dishonored  dust. 


70  TO  A   DEPARTED  FRIEND. 

X. 

TO    A    DEPARTED    FRIEND. 

DEAR  friend,  who  lovedst  well  this  pleasant  life! 
One  year  ago  it  is  this  very  day 
Since  thou  didst  take  thy  uncompanioned  way 
Into  the  silent  land,  from  out  the  strife 

And  joyful  tumult  of  the  world.     The  knife 
Wherewith  that  sorrow  cut  us,  still  doth  stay, 
And  we,  to  whom  thou  daily  didst  betray 
Thy  gentle  soul,  with  faith  and  worship  rife, 

Love  thee  not  less  but  more, —  as  time  doth  go 
And  we  too  hasten  toward  that  land  unknown 
Where  those  most  dear  are  gathering  one  by  one. 

The  power  divine  that  here  did  touch  thy  heart  — 
Hath  this  withdrawn  from  thee,  where  now  thou  art  ? 
Would  thou  indeed  couldst  tell  what  thou  dost  know. 


'TffE  EVENING  STAK."  71 


XL 


"THE   EVENING  STAR." 

THE  evening  star  trembles  and  hides  from  him 
Who  fain  would  hold  it  with  imperious  stare; 
Yet,  to  the  averted  eye,  lo !  unaware 
It  shines  serene,  no  longer  shy  and  dim. 

Oh,  slow  and  sweet,  its  chalice  to  the  brim 

Fills  the  leaf-shadowed  grape  with  rich  and  rare 
Cool  sunshine,  caught  from  the  white  circling  air! 
Home  from  his  journey  to  the  round  world's  rim — 

Through  lonely  lands,  through  cloudy  seas  and  vext — 
At  last  the  Holy  Grail  met  Launfal's  sight. 
So  when  my  friend  lost  him  who  was  her  next 

Of  soul, —  life  of  her  life, — all  day  the  fight 

Raged  with  a  dumb  and  pitiless  God.     Perplexed 
She  slept.     Heaven  sent  its  comfort  in  the  night. 


72  LIFE. 

XII. 
LIFE. 


i. 


GREAT  Universe  —  what  dost  thou  with  thy  dead! 

Now  thinking  on  the  myriads  that  have  gone 

Into  a  seeming  blank  oblivion, 

With  here  and  there  a  most  resplendent  head, — 
Eyes  of  such  trancing  sweetness,  or  so  dread, 

That  made  the  soul  to  quake  who  looked  thereon, — 

All  utterly  wiped  out,  dismissed,  and  done: 

Lost,  speechless,  viewless,  and  forever  fled! 
Myriad  on  myriad,  past  the  power  to  count, — 

Where  are  they,  thou  dumb  Nature  ?  Do  they  shine, 

Released  from  separate  life,  in  summer  airs, 
On  moony  seas,  in  dawns; — or  up  the  stairs 

Of  spiritual  being  slowly  mount 

And  by  degrees  grow  more  and  more  divine? 


LIFE. 


73 


II. 


Ah,  thou  wilt  never  answer  to  our  call, 

Thou  Voiceless  One, —  naught  in  thee  can  be  stirred, 
What  though  the  soul,  like  to  a  frightened  bird, 
Dash  itself  wildly  'gainst  thy  mountain- wall. 

From  Nature  comes  no  answer,  though  we  fall 
In  utmost  anguish  praying  to  be  heard, 
Or  peer  below,  or  our  brave  spirits  gird 
For  steep  and  starry  flight,  —  'tis  silent  all. 

In  vain  to  question — save  the  heart  of  man, 
The  throbbing  human  heart,  that  still  doth  keep 
Its  truth,  love,  hope,  its  high  and  quenchless  faith. 

By  day,  by  night,  when  all  else  faints  in  sleep, 
"Naught  is  but  Life,"  it  cries,  "there  is  no  death; 
Life,  Life  doth  only  live,  since  Life  began." 


74  THE  FREED  SPIRIT. 

XIII. 
THE  FREED  SPIRIT. 

BROTHER  of  sorrow  and  mortality! 

Not  always  shall  we  chide  the  failing  flesh 

That  lets  the  netted  soul  to  silence  fly, 

Like  a  wild  bird  that  breaks  the  treacherous  mesh: 

Not  always  shall  men  curse  in  stormy  sky 
The  laughter  and  the  fury  of  a  Power 
That  sees  its  chance-born  children  sink  and  die, — 
Hurling  or  death  or  life  for  dole  or  dower. 

Who  deep  his  spirit  searches  can  deny 

Oh  nevermore,  that  life  doth  leave  a  trace 
Of  something  not  all  heavenly;  though  we  try 

Daily  to  turn  toward  Heaven  a  steadfast  face. 
Even  grief  assoils  us  with  its  poisonous  breath, — 
Then  free  our  spirits  utterly,  pure  Death  ! 


UNDYING  LIGHT. 

XIV. 

UNDYING   LIGHT, 
i. 

WHEN  in  the  golden  western  summer  skies 
A  flaming  glory  starts,  and  slowly  fades 
Through  crimson  tone  on  tone  to  deeper  shades, 
There  falls  a  silence,  while  the  daylight  dies 

Lingering, — but  not  with  human  agonies 
That  tear  the  soul,  or  terror  that  degrades ; 
A  holy  peace  the  failing  world  pervades 
Nor  any  fear  of  that  which  onward  lies; 

For  well,  ah  well,  the  darkened  vale  recalls 
A  thousand  times  ten  thousand  vanished  suns; 
Ten  thousand  sunsets  from  whose  blackened  walls 

Reflamed  the  white  and  living  day  that  runs, 
In  light  which  brings  all  beauty  to  the  birth, 
Deathless  forever  round  the  ancient  earth. 


75 


7  6  UNDYING  LIGHT. 


II. 


O  thou  the  Lord  and  Maker  of  life  and  light ! 
Full  heavy  are  the  burdens  that  do  weigh 
Our  spirits  earthward,  as  through  twilight  gray 
We  journey  to  the  end  and  rest  of  night; 

Though  well  we  know  to  the  deep  inward  sight 
Darkness  is  but  thy  shadow,  and  the  day 
Where  thou  art  never  dies,  but  sends  its  ray 
Through  the  wide  universe  with  restless  might. 

O  Lord  of  Light,  steep  thou  our  souls  in  thee ! 
That  when  the  daylight  trembles  into  shade, 
And  falls  the  silence  of  mortality, 

And  all  is  done, —  we  shall  not  be  afraid, 

But  pass  from  light  to  light ;  from  earth's  dull  gleam 
Into  the  very  heart  and  heaven  of  our  dream. 

THE    END. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


